Chapter 1 - PAGE 204
My ex-husband’s wife stopped smiling before I even told her what was on the page.
Lauren’s hand slowly dropped from the bouquet she had brought as though flowers could somehow erase a year of silence.
“What page?” she asked.
“Two hundred four.”
Daniel looked at her.
My mother, Margaret, tightened her grip around the cellophane.
My father stared at the porch floor.
That was when I knew.
At least one of them had already read it.
I stepped back inside, not to invite them in, but to pick up the copy of my book resting on the entry table.
The Chair Beside Her Bed.
Sophie’s favorite photograph wasn’t on the cover. I had refused that.
Her story belonged to her before it belonged to anyone buying a book.
I opened to the page.
“You want me to read it?”
Lauren’s cheeks reddened.
“That’s unnecessary.”
“No. I think it’s very necessary.”
Daniel muttered my name.
I ignored him.
Then I read:
> The night I begged my former husband for help caring for our sons while our daughter was fighting leukemia, his wife laughed and told me, “You’re just a poor writer. Deal with it.” My former husband heard her. Then he told me it was not a good time for them.
The porch became silent.
I continued.
> I believed those words would haunt me because they proved how alone I was. Instead, they became useful. They taught me which doors I never needed to knock on again.
Lauren’s mouth opened.
“I never said it like that.”
“You said it exactly like that.”
“You were emotional.”
“My daughter was in the hospital.”
“You’re making me sound cruel.”
I closed the book.
“I didn’t use your name.”
Daniel stepped forward.
“People know.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“My coworkers figured it out.”
“Did you correct them?”
He said nothing.
Interesting.
Then my mother jumped in.
“This isn’t why we came.”
“Then why did you come?”
“We miss you.”
A year of silence.
One bestseller.
Suddenly they missed me.
My father lifted his head.
“Nora, there’s something—”
“Frank,” my mother snapped.
There it was again.
She was stopping him.
I looked directly at him.
“What?”
My mother stepped between us.
“He’s tired.”
“I didn’t ask you.”
Dad’s face looked older than I remembered.
His hands shook slightly.
Then Daniel said:
“This is getting ridiculous. We came because there’s an opportunity.”
Of course.
“What opportunity?”
He glanced at Lauren.
She looked away.
“A producer contacted us.”
My stomach tightened.
“What producer?”
“A woman from Los Angeles. She’s interested in adapting the book.”
I stared at him.
“Why would she contact you?”
Daniel hesitated.
Lauren answered.
“Because we’re characters in it.”
“No. You’re not.”
They were never named.
Locations changed.
Jobs changed.
Identifying details removed wherever possible.
Daniel said:
“She thinks the family side of the story would make the show stronger.”
There it was.
Not forgiveness.
Screen time.
Then Lauren added quietly:
“She said there could be consulting money.”
I almost laughed.
My mother looked embarrassed, but not enough to leave.
“How much?”
Daniel crossed his arms.
“She mentioned twenty-five thousand initially.”
“For what?”
“To tell our side.”
“My daughter died while you were too busy to watch your own sons.”
His jaw tightened.
“That is my side.”
Then my father finally stepped around my mother.
“Nora, that’s not the reason I came.”
Mom snapped his name again.
This time he ignored her.
He reached inside his jacket and removed an old white envelope.
Hospital letterhead.
My name across the front.
Unopened.
“I should have given you this a year ago.”
I stared.
“What is it?”
His eyes filled.
“Something Sophie asked me to keep until you were ready.”
My heart stopped.
“You saw Sophie?”
Dad looked at my mother.
Then back at me.
“Yes.”
“During treatment?”
He nodded.
Three times.
I had never known.
May you like
And suddenly the four people on my porch were no longer there only because my book became successful.
My father had been carrying something from my daughter for almost a year.
